


Ostara Didn't Say Everyone, Merlin

by selfinduced



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: First Time, Lust Potion/Spell, M/M, Magic Made Them Do It, Pining, Pining Arthur
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-22 00:56:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1570034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selfinduced/pseuds/selfinduced
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a suspicious man about the castle. Or so Merlin says. All Arthur knows is that this huddling together between trees is not ideal. And does Merlin really have to associate with every person that gives him the eye?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Merlin Is No Good At Interrogation

It's not usually a problem.

But Merlin's usually wearing a shirt.

"There, do you see them now?" Merlin turns to him and murmurs and Arthur is equal parts irritated at Merlin noticing something first and inexplicably dry-mouthed and distracted. 

He keeps a hand on Merlin's hip to hold them back out of view and absolutely still, pulling Merlin against him with a hand on his mouth. Merlin, being Merlin, is suddenly compliant, putting his head back on Arthur's shoulder to speak directly into his ear as if Arthur can't see for himself that there's trouble afoot. 

"The one towards the front, with the longer tunic, do you see him? He was at court yesterday." Alright, so Arthur hadn't noticed that. "He waited through all the hearings, but never stepped forth to present his own."

"It's Beltane, Merlin," Arthur drawls, trying insulting but settling for slightly husky and teasing, "everyone and their grandmother have been in the castle all week."

"His name is Garath."

"Oh well done! Now we know his name. Do you think we could now perhaps ask him _politely_ to stop plotting against the kingdom?”

Merlin smiles sideways as he does when he's amused at Arthur, but refraining from being insolent, and against Arthur’s will, it shrinks the world to just the two of them. Where he can’t escape the heat in his gut or help the tensing of his thighs against the backs of Merlin’s.

"He spent the entire morning with me, actually, but I don’t remember anything of what we spoke of. Just that he was nice…"

“That’s lovely Merlin, why don’t we just send all our potential invaders to you for information beforehand? You may not know anything useful to say, but at least you could show them a good time.”

Merlin makes a strangled sound, head falling back onto Arthur's shoulder "Do you mean to be doing that?"

Arthur's eyes flicker back to watch the smile drop off his face, eyelashes fluttering down, mouth slightly open, and Arthur realizes that his thumb is tucked under the edge of Merlin's trousers, stroking Merlin's bare hip.

Merlin's eyes roll alarmingly and he slumps back onto Arthur, out cold.

Bugger.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merlin knows too much about love potions.

Merlin is, of course, deceptively heavy. The hiding spot Arthur pulled them to can barely be called a cave. When his eyes flutter open, Arthur startles, swearing. His eyes are glowing an unnatural gold that can only mean sorcery. 

“Merlin, are you in there, can you understand me?” he squeezes a hot hand in both of his own.

“Arthur,” Merlin moans in a way that can only be described as breathy, turning those unnatural eyes on him. They cool back to normal, but with wide, dark pupils. 

“Yes, you idiot. Who else would it be?”

“It never hurts to be hopeful,” Merlin snipes back, though weakly, “you could’ve been a fair maiden, ready to nurse me back to health.”

“Really Merlin, what happened to _Garath_?”

Merlin sits up, rubbing his face, “Yes, what did happen back there?”

“Well, he was either having a secret meeting with a suspiciously large group of people in the woods or planning a surprise party for your birthday," Arthur leaves out the bit about having his hand under Merlin's trousers, "I hate to say it, but I don’t think he’s the one for you, Merlin.”

Merlin merely glares at him, then looks alarmed as he totters as soon as he's up on his feet and falls into Arthur’s arms.

“Have you lost the use of your legs as well as your wits, then?” 

“I don’t suppose you’d know what a headrush is, sire.” Merlin pushes away, and starts to fall again.

“Oh for the love of—Merlin, what is it?” Arthur keeps a hold of him this time, crowding him towards the cave wall.

“It’s, er, well.”

“Yes?”

“I appear to be not quite right in the head.”

“Finally, you concede!”

Merlin doesn’t deign to answer, shivering instead in Arthur’s arms, nosing at Arthur’s temple, hands crumpling the front of Arthur’s tunic against his chest.

“What are you—!” Arthur jumps, “Merlin!”

Merlin looks up guiltily, and Arthur realizes he’s been staring at his face—at Arthur’s lips—mouth open, and breath coming fast. 

Arthur narrows his eyes. “What _kind_ of not right in the head?”

“Well,” Merlin blinks, “It feels like a love potion.”

“A—what? And how exactly would you know what that feels like?”

Merlin shrugs infuriatingly.

“Right, so, what, you’re in love with me?" Arthur's voice doesn't catch or do anything else unwanted. 

“No!”

“It’s okay Merlin, everyone comes to feel this way about me eventually.”

“Could you stop being such a bloody prat for a second and help me figure out what to do!”

“That’s not a very loving attitude.” Arthur pauses, “And how would we know how to do anything about this sort of thing anyway?”

“I’m sure I—Gaius taught me something that could help. We just need to retrace our steps and—probably we’ll need some—herbs, yes. Maybe you could go get some.”

Arthur sighs, taking out an arrow but with nothing to aim it at. “Those men are still out there. We can’t just go out there until they leave.”

“Right.” Merlin settles back against the wall, as they seem to be in for a wait.

Arthur does his very best to ignore the way Merlin’s head lolls forward, hitting Arthur’s shoulder, and the shaky breaths on the side of his neck, or the way Merlin is clutching at Arthur’s tunic, _again_ , or how his lips are bitten red. 

"You're in good company you know," he says to distract himself, "it's natural to be in love with the prince."

Now is _not_ the time for Arthur to remember all the times he's lain awake thinking of Merlin in his arms, but of course he does because he's _weak_ , and clearly infected by Merlin’s lack of self-preservation instincts, but Merlin's neck is _right there_ and his voice is raspy and low when he responds, feeling like it's brushing directly on Arthur's skin.

"It's wonderful that you're able to think so positively, sire. Considering all the mishaps you've had with women."

"As if you're not already planning our wedding."

"You're as partial to cake as I am, sire."

"You've called me sire more times just now than in the last year."

"It helps."

Arthur's breath hitches. "How long do you think this'll last?" He doesn't have to lean that close, let his lips brush Merlin's ear like that, but he does it anyway—when else will he have Merlin reacting to him like this?—Merlin makes a low noise in his throat that makes his hips pitch forward though he stops himself in time.

Merlin snaps, testy, "Well, considering that I'm not feeling the need to gather flowers or compose sonnets for anyone, I'd guess this is a run of the mill lust sp—potion, not love."

Arthur snorts, "Maybe you just haven't met the right girl." 

Merlin's face goes horribly wistful, as if maybe he _had_ , and dammit, when had Merlin had time to meet anyone important without Arthur knowing?

"So, only lust, which means—?" Arthur prods.

"Uh. I don't—I think it only lasts until the uh, urge, is satisfied," Merlin says, and they both startle at the sound of the arrow in Arthur's hand snapping neatly in two. 

"Right. So. We'll just get you home. To, uh," Arthur's insides burn at the thought, "a willing lad. Or maiden. Of your choosing. Or a better idea might be someone discreet with a few coins for something like this." And encouraged to stay far, far away, "I mean, it's not exactly a chance for romance, is it?" 

Great. Merlin's the one drugged, and Arthur is babbling. 

"Is it necessary for you to talk so much?" Merlin probably thinks his voice is threatening, but the scratchy thickness of it is only devastating to Arthur's self-control. 

"I'm just saying."

Merlin glares at him, but Arthur is sort of lost in the gold tint still in his eyes and it makes his mouth dry.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur saves Merlin's life, as friends do.

“You’re sweating.”

“Thanks, I hadn’t noticed.”

“As you've still got no shirt, you happen to be sweating _on me_.”

“I’m sorry, sire. It must be so inconvenient for you, me being enchanted and on the brink of death and sweating on you.”

“You said it was a love potion—”

“Lust.”

“Whatever. You can’t die, you didn’t say it involved _dying_. I won’t allow it.”

Merlin laughs, but it’s weak and he winces like it hurts and Arthur reaches up to brush his forehead where the dark hair is curling wetly onto his skin. Merlin leans into it, eyes fluttering half closed, sighing, and all Arthur wants to do is kiss him.

“Maybe I could—it doesn’t seem like you can wait for us to get back to the castle. I know it’s not ideal, but I could try, if you want.”

Merlin looks at him as if he’s the one addled by some spell. “Try what?”

Arthur gestures between them, “You know,” and adds at Merlin’s skeptical look, “Oh come off it. I’m a good kisser. Or so I’ve heard.”

“Really. And who told you that bit of hogwash.”

“No one had to say it, you can see it on their faces afterwards. I can most certainly do better than this _Garath_ fellow!”

Merlin has been taking eyebrow-raising lessons from Gaius, and does not need words to communicate his skepticism.

“Look, do you want to do this or not.”

“I don’t need you to... _do_ whatever,” Merlin gestures vaguely, but doesn’t seem to stumble at the concept, “You don’t want to, and I’m not going to ask you to.”

"I want to taste you, I can’t stop thinking of it," Arthur admits.

Merlin's eyes widen with alarm, "It's affecting you too?"

"Possibly." He lies, staring at the press of Merlin's teeth onto his lower lip. 

“Oh.” Merlin sags against him as if all strength has left him. 

Arthur pulls him close, holding him up and touching his face, his stupid ears, his neck damp with sweat, and Merlin makes a keening sound, pressing into him, so they have to kiss because it only makes sense, and Arthur’s thought of this all too often, but not in a realistic this-could-happen-someday way, so he doesn’t know whether to stop or keep going or what not to do so it won’t be obvious that he’s given this quite a bit of thought. Too much. Merlin’s mouth is insistent, biting at his lips and the side of Arthur’s neck, hands scrabbling under Arthur’s tunic and tugging until Arthur lifts his arms to let it be pulled off. 

Arthur sort of forgets to try to do anything but keep up at that point. Merlin clearly knows what he wants and isn’t concerned with what Arthur has or hasn’t imagined before, and really, Arthur’s imagination has never been able to believe Merlin would want this, so it’s all brand new and overwhelming.

Merlin scratches down his side and grips at his hips to line them up, sucking a kiss that will definitely leave a mark on Arthur’s shoulder, and Arthur moans, moves them so he can push one hand against the cave wall for better leverage, the other coming down between them to get a hand inside Merlin’s trousers, encouraged by Merlin’s feverish gasps and hips pushing into his hand, his hand jerking on Merlin, slippery from the bit of come already leaking out.

“Arthur,” Merlin breathes into his ear, and Arthur shivers, hand moving faster.

“What do you need?” he asks, voice rough, and wants to do anything—whatever Merlin needs, and Merlin kisses him, deep and wet and like he could make Arthur come just like that.

“Your mouth, I need,” Merlin kisses him more, “Hot, wet, I think the spell—” and Arthur’s insides clench at that reminder of how they ended up here, but he nods into the kiss, sliding to his knees, mouthing his way into the open front of Merlin’s trousers between one breath and the next. “Oh holy—,” Merlin chokes, slumping back against the wall, hips pliant and open in Arthur’s hands, “ _Arthur_.”

Arthur makes a smug sound.

Merlin’s hands curl into his hair, “There’s no need to sound so,” he gasps as Arthur’s mouth tightens, “When did you even learn—oh.” 

Arthur sucks insistently, nails leaving marks on Merlin’s pale skin that will stay for days and remind him of this, of Arthur’s mouth. 

Merlin starts to thrust shallowly, tugging at Arthur’s hair, and Arthur smirks, going deeper so it’ll be easier to swallow without tasting, and not too soon as Merlin starts pulsing into his mouth, breath harsh and so loud Arthur fears they’ll be overheard and looks up to admonish him. Merlin’s eyes roll back in his head and his body slides down, collapsing again as Arthur stares, triumph and expectation fading. No reciprocation to be had, then.

Typical.


End file.
